A Live In One
by howdoyouspellomally
Summary: BACKWARDS -part one. Jim/Seb drabbles. Working backwards from the moment Jim dies to the moment he meets Seb.
1. Chapter 1

_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk_

_I'm a woman's man, no time to talk_

A pigeon had landed on Jim Moriarty's stomach, pecking at his buttons and ruffling it's wings, but it flies away in a rustle of noise at the sudden sound of the Bee Gees blasting from its perch's pocket.

_Music loud and women warm_

_I've been kicked around since I was born_

There is the quietest plop of blood dripping from Jim's eyebrow and into the pooling blood around his head. Another phone, smashed by the carelessness with which it was dropped, lies metres from his head.

_And now it's all right, it's OK_

_And you may look the other way_

Scuffled grazes in the ground make patterns around his body. Perhaps dancers were practicing up here earlier. Or roller skaters, or punks with steel toed boots.

_We can try and understand _

_The New York Times' effect on man_

The ring tone echoes around the roof top and is heard by a passing nurse who had snuck up to the top of the stair well for a smoke. She'd heard voices earlier but had thought nothing of it.

_Whether you're a brother_

_Or whether you're a mother_

She opens the door onto the roof slowly, unsure if there is actually someone waiting up here to catch her off duty. She spies the body straight away but is in no way concerned. She's seen enough of the dead and the dying to be quite calm about unconscious bodies.

_You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

She approaches the body cautiously. Perhaps they've fainted. Perhaps they were smoking up here too and they had an asthma attack. Perhaps they fell asleep. Perhaps they're playing a trick on her. But she recognises the face. It's James Moriarty, the bloke from the court case. Stole the royal jewels or something. Had to do with that fraud detective.

_Feel the city breakin'_

_And everybody shakin'_

At first she's concerned this is a trick of the more dangerous kind, that she is about to become the next victim of this criminal she's barely even thought about. But there is a hole in the back of his head and a puddle of blood around him. He's most certainly dead.

She turns on her heel and runs for the door, slamming it behind her.

The roof top is silent again, but for the quiet plop of blood and the Bee Gees lulling the criminal to his sleep.

_And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

_Ah, ha, ha, ha_

_Stayin' ali-_


	2. Chapter 2

Seb shifts the bag on his shoulder. The unused sniper is heavy, he's tired and he wants a fucking coffee. If Jim doesn't pay for it this time he is going to get the gun out and shoot him through the head. It's been a long time coming and they haven't had sex in three days so he's feeling less generous.

The landlady beams at him as he pull his mobile out of his pocket and he nods back, winking at the woman's granddaughter as he passes her too. Everyone loves Sebastian. Sebastian the perfect, the handsome, the artist. Only Jim loves Sebastian the hit-man. But then, Jim was the one who _made _Seb the hit-man.

And he's gonna regret it, making me wait on those freezing stairs for a half a bloody hour waiting for that detective to jump.

He punched the enter button, sending Jim an irritable text.

_You owe me coffee. Meet you in Starbucks. Buy me the fanciest drink there and keep it warm for me._

He leans against the wall outside the building doing his laces and waiting for a reply. He can't help but feel a little hurt when he doesn't get a text back. Usually Jim is so quick to pick up the phone and reply. Obviously he's too busy thinking about Cheekbones the Detective. Seb might have even fancied the prick a bit if he wasn't distracting Jim so much from what was important.

What was important being Seb of course.

He rolls his eyes and calls Jim, hauling the bag over his shoulder again and setting off to find the nearest Starbucks. The call rings out, buzzing intermittently as he presses the phone to his ear.

"Pick up, come _on_," Seb growls, squinting at a sign in the distance. Is that Starbucks or Costa? He can't tell from this far. No sight of Jim anyway.

He looks down at the phone. "Fucker," he mutters.

And he ends the call


	3. Chapter 3

"And are you two a couple?" the woman at the desk asks with the kind of bright disinterest that only a secretary can perfect.

"Fuck buddies," Seb grins. Oh he used to be so polite and charming. Now he is simply brash indelicacy.

"I'm sorry?" the secretary's eyes widen. _I heard exactly what you said but I'm going to pretend I didn't until you rephrase it, _was what she mean.

"Partners," Jim corrects, slinging an arm round Seb's waist. "Just waiting for the law to be passed, ma'am."

She ticks a box on the form and scribbles a note. She tears something off the bottom of the page and hands it to Jim, clearly having taken a disliking to Seb. "Your appointment is this afternoon. Come again."

"Well yeah, we're coming this afternoo-"

"Thank you for your time," Jim interrupts, slapping Seb on the backside and driving him away.

Once they are outside they spring apart, no longer needing to pretend they are a normal happy couple who don't spend every conversation arguing. Well, that's not fair. They flirt an awful lot too. But these days they mostly just argue. In fun, in play, but in a way that cuts off any doorway to delicate conversation they might have had before. They understand each other completely, respect each other and are fond of each other- but they never say that.

"What a bitch," Seb grumbles.

"You say everyone's a bitch," Jim points out.

"And I'm right and you agree with me," he smiles. "You're a bitch too. Don't you ever slap my arse again."

Jim reaches round, leering, but Seb hops away. "I will shoot you."

"I'll let you," Jim replies neatly, still grinning sleazily.

Seb rolls his eyes and smooths down his dirty blonde hair. He never combs it but usually when they go out he puts a bit of gel in. Today he just could not be bothered.

"Why did we need to do that again?" he asks, stretching his arms out in a yawn as they set off down the street and Jim begins tapping away on his phone. It's early in the morning and the streets are mostly empty. His breath mists on the air.

"I need to be on the roof of St Barts today," Jim says. "Can't get in without an appointment."

"Why the hospital?" Seb frowns. "Cos baby if you need fixing I can-"

"Because I'm meeting Sherlock Holmes," Jim interrupts, though he sounds a little reluctant. Seb has spent the last few months taunting Jim's obsession with the consulting detective. Mainly because it's hilarious, but also because he's jealous as hell. Jim tries to change the subject. "That blood on your glasses?"

Seb takes them off to clean them. "Yeh, cheers," he says. "We gonna get coffee?"

"No time, I have to plan," Jim says, turning his attention back to his mobile. "Who would you say is the best hit-man? Robbins or Jameson?"

"Me," Seb replies.

"That's why I need you on John Watson," Jim says. His brow furrows. "Oh I'll just flip a coin."

"You want me to kill the doctor bloke?" Seb asks. This wouldn't be the first time Jim has made that request.

"No, I want Sherlock to kill himself," Jim sniffs.

"Oh," Seb says.

"It's going to be wonderful," Jim beams.

"Killing ain't beautiful, death ain't beautiful," Seb says. "I know you think it is but I don't get the appeal."

"Says the hit-man," quips Jim.

"Job is a job," Seb shrugs, watching pigeons fly overhead. "Killin' is simple enough. I don't get what's so _wonderful_ about it. You shoot 'em, boom, done. You shut 'em down, you pull the cord, unplug them. There ain't no curtain call, it's just done. There's them and then they're not there any more."

"Do you care?" Jim has stopped walking.

He sounds surprised, almost betrayed. This is a man who dances in death, shakes hand with the devils and leaves destruction in his wake with a manner more calm than any fairy tale villain. He doesn't care. He never cares. He just keeps on picking the rubble off his suit and carries on. Like he's on a quest but he never find the end.

"Nah," Seb shrugs. "I imagine if it happens to someone I like I will do. But nah, I'm good. S'not like I'll ever let it happen, anyway."

"What if I die?" Jim asks.

Seb laughs. "You high, sir?"

Jim rolls his eyes.


End file.
